You Hit Me!
by Objessions
Summary: Mac and Jack in their Army days. Just a few chapters looking at a couple of my personal headcanons and whumping the hell out of the boys. Especially Jack. Because someone has a birthday, and it's now a tradition.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N - Happy Birthday, Gib! It's now a tradition for me to whump Jack for Gib's birthday. This was going to be a single chapter one shot, but it's kind of gotten away from me. I'm super busy with a blog challenge we call The Twelve Days of Fic-mas, so I couldn't come up with more than one chapter in time for the big day. But here is the start. In it I take a walk through a couple of scenarios I've mentioned in other stories that are part of my personal headcanon for the guys. I hope everyone enjoys, but above all, I hope this helps Gib have a happy birthday!_

"How's it lookin' down there, pal?"

"About the same as it was when you asked me two minutes ago, Jack," Mac called up to his partner, sounding only about a third as exasperated as he felt.

"I'm just checkin'," Jack said defensively. "Last time you got all tight lipped like this you got your damned self blown up," he observed. Not that Mac had actually been responsible for that. It was an RPG, after all. But the point was he had been being defensively quiet like this right before it happened.

"And a merry freaking Christmas it was," Mac returned with a wry chuckle.

"Well then, you can see why I feel the need to get after you. Mac gets quiet, shit blows up."

"Congratulations on another epic example of _post hoc ergo proctor hoc,_ buddy _."_

"Did you just swear at me in German or somethin'?" Jack asked indignantly.

Mac laughed. "I'll leave swearing in languages I'm not yet fluent in to you. That's Latin. And it's a logical fallacy based on an assumption that because one thing happened the thing that happened next was caused by it. Kind of like a false syllogism."

Jack's face appeared above the hole in the floor where Mac was crouched again. Mac knew because the man's shadow fell over his work space. "Huh?"

Mac waved him off. "Get out of my light!" He adjusted something on the device. "Logical fallacies … you know, arguments that aren't really arguments at all. Think … like the stuff you see on C-SPAN when Congress is debating something."

"Dude, you're the only guy I've ever met who actually watches that shit. And my arguments are real!"

"Occasionally," he smirked. "My favorite fallacy of yours is _Petitio principii."_

"There you go cussin' at me again."

Mac snickered and shook his head. "It sort of means circular argument … more or less." He thought about explaining it more fully, but reasoned that the explanation was likely to trigger Jack giving him an excellent example. And quite frankly it had been a long damned day. He was tired, hot, stiff, and starting to get a real pisser of a headache. And they still had two or three calls left to check out. Besides … he thought maybe … yep, that ought to do it … And … "Clear," he called out, closing up his pocket knife and dropping it back into one of the pockets on his tac vest.

"Yes!"

Mac accurately pictured the accompanying Jack fist pump. Then the shadow fell over him again as Jack leaned back over the opening to this dusty crawl space and reached a hand down to help his partner up.

"Now we can get outta here!"

Mac groaned as he got up. He'd spent the last ten or so hours crouched in various cramped spaces around the town and every one of his muscles and joints were pointing out that they didn't care if he was only twenty-two, the human body didn't appreciate that kind of abuse in any decade.

"We've still got at least that place up the street unless Reynolds cleared it. And then, wasn't there a barn over that way?" He waved vaguely to the south as he stretched up his hand to grab the one Jack offered as leverage.

Jack hauled him up out of the glorified hole in the ground. "Aw, Hell. I forgot about that."

He looked around, making sure the area was still clear. As they walked over to their humvee, Mac glanced at his watch. The face was cracked but he squinted and guessed, "It's about fourteen hundred now … We should probably just head up the street. We can radio Reynolds on the way. We might actually hit everything before dark."

"You need a new watch, kid. It's almost sixteen hundred and we've got an hour of decent light. Tops."

Mac opened the door and climbed in. "Guess we better haul ass then."

Jack climbed in to drive, grabbing a water out of the console and passing it to Mac. He started them rolling along as Mac chugged the water and reached in for a second one. "You want a protein bar or somethin', Mac?"

Mac was too busy guzzling more water to answer verbally, but he shook his head.

"You sure?"

Mac put down the second empty water bottle. "I'm too tired."

"Too tired to eat?"

Mac shrugged. "Yeah, kinda. What's it to you anyways?"

"I'm your Overwatch and …"

"Nope. Don't start that again. Your job is to keep some jihadist from putting a bullet in me while I work, not make sure I floss or whatever, and definitely not to try to feed me like you're a little Italian grandmother."

"Well, then, I'm your _partner_ , and that means I look out for you in general, brother, just like you look out for me. We take care of each other and we make sure the other is takin' care of themselves."

Mac huffed a sigh. "Alright. But I can't do chocolate covered cardboard right now. When we get back to the FOB, I'll grab an MRE, so long as they got in something other than those enchiladas, man. I just can't face another one."

Jack chuckled. "I've got some jerky in my gear under my bed and I might have a couple Gatorade powders if you wanna skip it."

"What kind?"

"Teriyaki I think," he shrugged.

"Not the jerky. The Gatorade."

"Still thirsty?"

"Usually," he said ruefully. "I don't think I'm ever gonna stop tasting moon dust."

"Know what you mean, kid. I think it's the lemon lime stuff."

Mac wrinkled his nose. But he always used the drink mix as soon as it got issued so he supposed beggars couldn't be choosers. He half listened, half dozed while Jack radioed ahead, found out that another tech from their unit was already at the spot up the street that had been called in, and let their dispatch know they were en route to the barn that'd been reported as suspicious.

He was so tired. He honestly couldn't remember a time in his life when he'd slept well. He couldn't even blame any past loss or upheaval either. He'd just always been a restless sort of person, even as a little kid. One thing this deployment had done for him, he supposed, was it had taught him to just be still and rest when the job allowed it, even if he couldn't really sleep. Jack was good for reinforcing that lesson. The man was a celebrated napper.

It took a while to get across town and the rocking of the truck combined with Jack's tangential chatter lulled Mac from dozing to almost fully asleep. If he'd thought much about it, he wouldn't have been surprised that his dreams took him back several months to Christmas here with Jack as his Overwatch. They'd been talking about it earlier, and in retrospect, the day was pretty similar, with too many reports, too little rest, and a last push as the dark was chasing them back to the FOB. Jack might have even been talking about it again in the truck as they traveled to their (hopefully) last destination of the evening before they could head in.

But Mac had tuned him out and given into his body's demand for sleep.

" _I'll drive, Jack," he offered, noticing how Jack was wearing a headachy sort of squint._

 _While Mac had been in the shade of the alley disarming a fairly complicated series of IEDs all afternoon, Jack had been perched on the roof across the street in the sun. It wasn't hot. Hell, it was about twenty degrees colder here that it was in California at this time of year. Mac had to clench his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering a couple of times while he worked. He figured in the shade it had been maybe 38 degrees. But cold or not, the sun was blazing overhead, and Mac figured Jack must be practically sun blind by now. And there'd been a lot of activity in the town, shouting, armed men moving around. That always stressed Jack out, even when the activity or people in question gave them a wide berth._

" _Nah, kid, that's alright. You must be wiped."_

 _Mac shrugged. "We're gonna be driving right into the sunset. I'm not the one nursing a migraine, so maybe since your job is actually to keep us alive a better way to do that would be admitting I'm the better choice for behind the wheel. "_

 _Jack laughed. "You are kind of a manipulative little shit, you know it?"_

" _It's not manipulation if it's just logic, Dalton."_

 _Jack grinned and nodded, walking around the vehicle and climbing in the passenger side. "I'm gonna give up before my headache gets any worse. I haven't got any aspirin on me."_

 _Mac went through his pockets, but when he came up empty, he dug around in the kit behind the driver's seat. As he got behind the wheel, he tossed a little packet at Jack. "Ibuprofen."_

" _Thanks, kid."_

 _Mac knew he'd made the right decision to drive when Jack wasn't talking his ear off as they headed out of town in the gathering darkness. He didn't even immediately grab the radio to call in. So Mac did._

 _The voice on the other end was new, sounded nervous. Mac flashed Jack a quick amused grin. Everybody knows a newbie when they hear one. Charlie had told Mac when they first met that one of the reasons he kept getting in up to his eyeballs on big jobs he wasn't sure he was ready for was that he didn't ever sound nearly as green as he was._

 _Jack grinned back but it reformed itself into a frown almost immediately when the voice informed them that another team was having transport trouble and the guys that'd stopped to help couldn't get the vehicle operational and didn't have room to take them on. Mac asked for the location and agreed to assist on their way out. Jack didn't like it. A single truck was a hell of a lot less likely to draw enemy interest or fire than on convoy._

 _They drove toward the other team in silence for a few minutes. Mac glanced at Jack and cleared his throat. "What wrong, Jack?"_

" _I don't like it when we group up like this … not with the way things have been and …"_

 _Mac shook his head and interrupted. "You've been all quiet and … not Jack-like … for a while now. Way before we got asked to render aid, man. What gives?"_

 _Jack got even more quiet and still. Then he sighed. "Dude, Christmas is in like what? three days? Just … this place always sucks but … It's Christmas," was all he seemed able to come up with._

 _Mac hadn't really thought much about the holiday. "I forgot. I'm sorry, man. I know you've got family back home. It must be hard."_

 _Jack gave him a hard look then. "Forgot Christmas? You don't ever forget any damned thing. How'd you forget missing Christmas with your family, kid?"_

 _Mac shrugged, eyes on the road ahead. "I don't know. It's been busy around here. I haven't heard from anyone in a couple weeks …"_

" _You miss walking right past the fake tree in the Mess everyday?"_

 _Mac laughed, but Jack thought it had a forced, almost annoyed sound. "By the time I ever get in there all I'm ever thinking about is what's for dinner and hoping like hell they have something other than yellow Gatorade left to drink."_

 _Jack would have pushed the conversation further, but they pulled up next to two other trucks, one with the hood up, with four guys standing around in the fading light, looking a combination of a little worried and a lot pissed off. Mac got out first. "Jesus, Ortiz, you bust this thing again? Somebody oughta take away your driving privileges."_

" _You're a funny guy, Mac," the other man observed ruefully. "Just do me a favor and tell me you brought that shiny knife and maybe some of your paper clips to bail our asses out while you're being funny."_

 _Mac was already looking under the hood. "I see the problem," he said, and got to work._

 _It was full dark when they got back on the road, and even though Jack insisted his head was fine, Mac insisted on driving the rest of the way in. "You've been yawking like it's your job," had been his justification, but really … and he wasn't going to say this out loud to Jack … he had a bad feeling about the night. Just … his spidey senses were tingling, he supposed. Which was why he wasn't going to say anything to Jack. Carl's Junior was a bad enough nickname, he didn't need Spidey, or Parker, or whatever the hell else the guys would think was funny, getting added to his list._

 _The lights from the base were visible on the horizon when their small convoy slowed to a crawl. Ortiz, who was driving the lead vehicle just in case anything happened to it again so no one would miss the problem, had almost come to a halt. "Wonder what he sees?" Jack said, starting to reach for his weapon on the seat next to him._

 _A second later the flare of an RPG was just visible, right before it blew the lead truck right off the road. Both men, swore, and Mac slammed on the brakes. They were scrambling to get out, to find cover, when the second the explosives hit the next truck. Jack had completely cleared the vehicle when the third RPG hit, but Mac hadn't. He was thrown, in what direction he didn't know, and it seemed like fire was all around him, right before everything went dark._

Mac gasped, and sat back up. He rubbed both hands over his face, breathing deeply to both orient himself and calm down, as well as assuage the immediate concern on his partner's face. "You okay, Mac?"

Mac shivered at the similarity to his question to Jack in his all too accurate dream. Then he forced himself to look Jack's way and smirk. "Dozing off while you're driving is enough to give anybody nightmares."

"Very funny, Carl's Junior." Jack pulled the truck up next to the barn and got out, immediately checking in with the scouting team that had reported a possible IED.

Mac got out and listened for a minute before just heading inside and getting to work. He knew it was dark out by the time he finished because Jack had needed to set up their portable light before he'd been there twenty minutes, and the temperature had dropped pretty significantly in the hour or so it took to clear the place. He could easily see his breath.

"Clear!" he called out loudly so Jack, who was guarding the door and keeping an eye on the street, would hear him and not be worried when he heard movement.

He found the scout team had waited for them to finish, thinking it would be safer to head back to base together. When he asked why, Jack cocked an eyebrow at him and said, "Cause my spidey senses are tingling."

Mac shivered again. He really hated it when Jack's superstitious side crept in and made him nervous, too. "I'll drive," Mac offered. "You had to pace around all day. You must be beat."

"Like hell, kid," Jack replied, as the other guys passed by in their own truck, going slowly so their team could keep up. "You're squinting like your head is trying to come off."

Mac frowned.

"Seriously, kid. You okay?"

"I … yeah." He got in on the passenger side, thinking maybe he really did need to get a proper sleep to be effective. He was getting as paranoid and crotchety as the old man.

Unusually for him, Mac chattered along for most of the trip home. Jack kept casting curious glances in his direction, but just held his own, as much as he could, in the odd, rambling conversation. They were nearly back to base, probably twenty minutes out, when he finally couldn't stand it anymore. "What the hell is eatin' you, kid?" Mac looked confused. "You've been talkin' my ear off for the last half hour."

Mac looked out the window, the lights of the truck ahead almost dim in the distance and the base nowhere in sight yet. "I … I was dreaming about Christmas … and I don't know … Today is just weirdly ...Similar, I guess."

Jack was about to say Mac was jumping at shadows, picking up on Overwatch worthy habits when they both swore as they saw a flash ahead. Jack wasn't sure whatever the explosive was had hit the other guys' truck, but he rolled his eyes as he started to undo his harness, and did what he always did when things got weird or went sideways. He quoted _Die Hard._ "How can the same shit happen to the same guy twice?"

Mac was about to point out that was a _Die Hard 2_ quote and they'd agreed the sequel was off limits for conversational purposes, but before he could open his mouth, their truck was struck with what felt like a freight train, and the world was tumbling end over end, for what felt like forever.


	2. Chapter 2

_Ow._

Mac hurt … everywhere. He pried his eyes open to find the vehicle mostly dark. He was hanging in the safety harness, so he was definitely upside down.

 _Shit._

Okay, he was sore, and he thought maybe he'd been unconscious for a minute, but compared to what happened on Christmas, he felt ready to hop up and run a 5K. But only compared to Christmas.

"Jack," he said, fuzzy enough that he wasn't sure if he was calling out hoping for his friend to answer, or reminding himself he needed to go looking for him.

There was no answer, so it was definitely the latter. He could hear gunfire and shouting, but it wasn't close. Maybe the other guys got missed. He hoped so fervently and he patted his vest, looking for his flashlight. The headlights were on, but they weren't helping much with the interior, just shining off over a flatish rocky plain, with the mountains a blank black wall in the distance. Mac realized that meant the vehicle was not only flipped, but facing the direction they'd come from.

He clicked on his light and shined it around the vehicle. No Jack.

"Jack!" he called out again, loudly this time, pretty sure if the man was close by … and conscious … he'd hear him. Another _pop, pop, pop_ of semi automatic gunfire startled him, and it was closer. Jack wasn't answering, a fight was going on, and shit had blown up all over the place. Mac felt the tendrils of panic start to wrap themselves around his chest and throat. "Keep it together, Mac," he mumbled out loud to himself.

He tried to undo the harness. Something was broken or stuck though because it wouldn't release. He took a deep breath and felt the pockets of his vest again. When his fingers touched his Swiss Army knife, he felt himself relax a little. As he cut himself free from the harness, he told himself over and over that Jack was alive, that there's no way that man would let go of stubborn long enough to die while Mac still needed an Overwatch.

Mac thumped down onto the roof of the vehicle and just laid there for a minute. _Ow_ , he thought again. His left arm was sticky and damp, so he knew he was bleeding, but he guessed it wasn't badly. He wasn't a fan of how cloudy his thoughts felt, but his helmet was still on so he figured that was the same simple fatigue that had caused him to doze off before.

The gun fire was still happening in sporadic bursts but it was further away. He closed his eyes for a few seconds breathing deeply, just trying to shake off the sort of slow moving sludge in his brain. _Radio … Okay, yeah. Thanks, brain._

After talking with their base Mac realized that helmet or no, he must've rapped his head on something because he only half remembered the call. He did know that reinforcements and a dustoff were on their way and there were definitely other guys still alive because the other vehicles had both called in. The voice assured him they'd be there soon since they were coming by air. Mac and the other guys were still well outside the wire and a ground rescue would take too long with so many hostiles in the area.

He sat there for a minute trying to gather his thoughts and retrace his mental steps so he could remember what he'd been doing before the radio had occurred to him.

He thought he heard a low moaning sound, but when he stopped moving again to listen, he didn't hear anything. "Jack?" he called again.

"Mmmm."

"Jack!" Mac practically shouted and started scrambling for the door. He tried to open it, but it didn't budge. _Must've gotten damaged in the blast, or when it rolled. Or both._ The window was cracked, about as far as was ever wise whether they needed to move some air or not, but not open. Mac tried to roll it down. _No luck. Damnit. That door must be screwed._

He finally remembered the tactical pen in his vest. To most people the words sounded like something the military made up to make a writing implement sound more badass, but in this case the item actually _was_ pretty badass. It was meant for situations just like this one.

When the reinforced body and tip broke the glass after slamming it into the middle of the window several times, Mac took a grateful breath of the cool night air. "Jack?" he said again, more softly than before since there was nothing between him and hearing an answer anymore.

"Mac?" The questioning reply was so quiet he almost missed it. Almost. He moved careful in the direction of Jack's voice. He didn't dare turn on his flashlight. He could see the beams of several others in the distance, but didn't know if it was there guys or the bad guys. That was not a question he wanted to have answered the hard way.

He ran into Jack before he saw him. Fortunately it was just with his outstretched hands. Jack groaned. "Sorry, sorry Jack. How bad?"

"Flashlight?"

"I don't think …"

"Flashlight." Okay, that was an order then.

"I'd say 'your funeral', but they'll probably kill us both, so …"

"Button it, Carl's Junior," Jack bit out. "Listen for a second."

Jack was right. Those were all American voices. And the gunfire had stopped. Light discipline was not an issue. Mac got his flashlight out and flicked it on.

"Oh, Jack. Jesus."

He was sure he was a lovely shade of green all of a sudden. He knew plenty about the human body but … _yeah, no_ , there was a reason he sucked at biology. _Give me the complex math of advanced applied physics over a Petrie dish any day,_ he thought.

Trying to sound like he was just making an observation, but sounding more like he was going to throw up, he said, "I … I think it's bent wrong."

Jack picked his head up and looked at his leg. "It's not bent wrong, just you know kinda iffy. More worried about the restame. Feel like Indiana Jones if, ya know, he didn't outrun that big ole rock."

Mac looked him over, trying to ignore the fact that touching Jack just about anywhere made the man gasp. He couldn't bring himself to investigate the leg injury too much. Now he could see it wasn't bent wrong, just massively swollen. "Head's bleeding but not much. Nothing else that's obvious. Except … your pain." Jack didn't contradict him about being in pain. Well, that wasn't great. "What happened?"

"Got thrown when I was gettin' out I think. Help me up."

"Like Hell! Stay down," Mac barked when jack started to struggle to get upright.

"Somebody needs a refresher in who gives orders to who, there, Carl's Junior. I'm alright, more or less. We're gonna have to find the other guys and …"

"Dustoff's on its way. Pretty sure I can hear a couple birds incoming right now. So stay put. You might have internal injuries."

Mac put the flashlight on the ground so he'd have his hands free but still be able to see. He was thinking he should crawl back inside the wrecked humvee for their tactical first aid kit since he'd packed it and knew it had splinting materials. The individual kits in their vests wouldn't be worth a damn for Jack's leg.

Jack moved to sit up again. "I'm fine, really kid," he replied, his voice tight with poorly concealed pain.

Mac put a hand in the middle of his chest. "Knock it off. You know better."

"You're bleedin' too," Jack observed, pointing to the blood drying on Mac's arm.

"Yeah, I know, Got my bell rung pretty good, too, even with the helmet. Think I maybe have a slight concussion."

Jack frowned. "You do realize you just owned up to being hurt, right? Like you never do that. You were fulla shrapnel after that RPG in …"

"Yeah, whatever. I figured you were looking for a fight so I'd help you up. You're staying on the ground until a medic says move or I will do what you did at Christmas."

"You can't carry me, genius. I'm twice your size."

Mac snorted. "Hardly. Besides I'll just cannibalize the truck and build something to help me. Pulley system of something," he said absently, listen intently to the approaching helicopters, deciding how close they were.

"For real now, Mac, let's go find the other guys so we can get out of here before the bad guys come back."

Mac still didn't move the hand in the middle of Jack's chest. "No. Don't be stupid."

Jack hated it when Mac implied he might be less than smart. He knew it was something the kid only ever did if he was scared or mad, because he knew Mac didn't believe any such thing. But it still pissed him off. He swatted Mac's arm away and Mac sucked in his breath. He'd definitely done something unfortunate to that arm. Jack hadn't used much force and it hurt quite a bit.

"Ow, damnit. Jackass," he said. But, to Jack's satisfaction, he backed up. "Suit yourself, but when you die from internal bleeding I'm not coming to your memorial. Just saying."

Jack rolled his eyes and pushed himself up to sitting. "See, I'm alright," he asserted.

"Sure," Mac said, climbing painfully to his feet, and moving to get behind Jack.

"You finally gonna be of some use and help me up insteada just fussin' at me."

"No. But if you're dumb enough to try to get up, I'm gonna catch you when you fall on your ass."

Jack rolled his eyes and moved to get up. The second he tried to put weight on his injured leg, there was a strangled cry, his body went limp, and Mac was right there to ease an unconscious Jack Dalton onto the ground. He sighed and sat down next to him, finally peeling off his sweaty helmet.

In another minute or two, the medevac arrived. Reynolds finally jogged over to see how they were. He'd known they were alive from the radio chatter, but also that it was unlikely they were unhurt. He filled Mac in briefly on engaging the group that had hit them, and on the condition of the rest of the guys.

Mac was expecting Jack and the others who were really injured to be taken to one of the base hospitals since it seemed likely the bullet wounds and Jack's leg were going to need more than the tent at the FOB. As it turned out, someone had made the call to transport all of them, just in case.

He supposed that was a good idea, given the circumstances. As they lifted into the air, Mac's eyes stayed on Jack, who was still out cold, but that could have been pain management at that point, for a few minutes. Finally, suspected concussion or not, he needed to close his eyes.

One of the guys next to him asked, "Didn't you guys get blowed up back around Christmas, too?"

Mac didn't open his eyes. "Yeah, another Groundhog Day out there, man."

Missions that went south the same way over and over were often referred to that way, and Mac knew the other man would get it. What he didn't say was how weirdly similar everything had been to the day that had very nearly gotten him killed. He also didn't say that he'd much rather have been the one hurt again. He was terrible at being hurt or sick and he knew it. But Jack … he was going to be miserable.

Mac sighed and found himself unusually inclined to join his partner in quoting a sequel. "How can the same shit happen to the same guy twice," he murmured.

"Huh?" the man next to him asked… he thought it was Kendrick but didn't open his eyes to check.

"Nothing," he replied, leaning his head against the fuselage and almost immediately dozing off.


	3. Chapter 3

"Any dizziness?"

"No, sir," Mac said again, somehow managing not to sound annoyed that the doctor was now repeating himself. He knew it was part of evaluating for concussion, but that didn't make it any less irritating. "I feel fine, sir."

Maybe 'fine' was an exaggeration, but it wasn't much of one. He just wanted to get cut loose so he could go check on Jack and the other guys, maybe grab a coffee, and go crash for a couple of hours in a chair somewhere.

"But you _did_ lose consciousness at the scene."

"Um … I might have. The vehicle rolled and it was disorienting. So I might not …" Mac stopped at the look he was getting. "I probably did, sir."

"And again on the flight in."

Mac shook his head, and sort of regretted it because it made his statement a few minutes ago that he wasn't nauseous a little bit of a fib. "No, sir. I _fell_ _asleep_ on the flight in. I didn't lose consciousness. Sir," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"Kind of an odd place for a nap," he observed.

Mac couldn't stop his eye roll. Soldiers slept when and where they could. And since the doctor was one, too, the man knew it. But somehow he still felt the need to defend himself. "I'd put in kind of a long day, sir. Probably fifteen hours of disarming IEDs. And that was before we got ambushed. I was beat, sir. I'm still beat. If I were trying to minimize my injuries, I wouldn't have mentioned that I hit my head, sir."

"Alright," he shrugged. Then he started making a note on the clipboard he'd brought into the exam room with him. "Observation for the rest of tonight. I'll check back with you in the morning. Someone'll be along in a few to take you to a room."

"Major Donaldson, I bumped my head. A little. I don't need to be taking up a bed for that, do I, sir?" he protested.

An eyebrow went up. "You can't get a transport back to your posting at least until tomorrow anyway, so … You got someplace better to be, Specialist?"

"I suppose not, sir." He sighed. "But … The guys I came in with …"

"Are probably arguing with someone who outranks them, too. Even though there were definitely a couple of bullet wounds in your party. I swear there's some kind of gung-ho crazy bug you all catch out there. Take a night in a decent bed and food that just shows up hot because somebody actually cooked it without being a pain in my ass. The Army will get by just fine without you for a day or two. Or thirty."

Mac blinked. "Excuse me, sir?"

"Unless things change drastically overnight, I won't make you hang around here too long. But, I don't want it to come as a surprise to you … You're probably looking at few weeks light duty at least. You have a concussion on record from the end of December already. We _are_ trying to make sure fewer of you guys go home with your eggs scrambled these days. Concussion recovery means you'll be restricted to things that aren't physically or cognitively demanding. The more you follow the restrictions, like real rest, for example, the faster you get back out there."

Mac sighed. "What's the risk of permanent injury, sir?"

The Major studied him for a moment. "I wish I could quote you some reassuring statistics, MacGyver, but there's just not enough good studies on causal relationships between concussion and the long term effects. Post concussion syndrome is a real risk though, especially if you push yourself, based on my experience. So do yourself a favor, get some rest, and follow the discharge instructions when we kick you out, alright?"

"I guess I wouldn't object to a bed and a hot breakfast," he said with a pleasant, self-deprecating smile. "But … um … do you know how Sargeant Dalton is? He came in with us. He's my overwatch, sir."

"Dark hair? Big mouth?"

Mac actually grinned. "That's him, sir."

"Annoying one of my colleagues loudly when I was coming down the hall. Don't suppose it'd make you happier if I said you could bunk in with him."

"Not especially, since I'm still not thrilled to need a room at all, but it'll probably make Dalton happier, sir. He gets touchy if anything blows up near me, sir."

"Yeah, those guys are like that," the major chuckled. "You want anything for the nausea?"

"Sure … I mean … I'm not … Sure." He sighed again. He wasn't going to mention that particular symptom, and it made him wonder exactly what shade of green he currently was.

"That's what I thought. I'm prescribing antibiotics and something light for the discomfort for your arm, too. How's it feeling now?"

Mac shrugged. He was already busted as far as the minor head injury went, and he was stuck here anyway, so he didn't see much percentage in bullshitting the guy. "Still numb at the moment. But that was a pretty big piece of glass so I don't imagine that'll last, sir. "

He sighed again when Donaldson didn't even pretend to disagree. By the time he was deposited in a room some time later, the lidocaine was wearing off, and he was happy enough to accept the cup of pills, even if all there was for pain was what appeared to be Tylenol. Two of the other guys from their detachment were already in the room, curtains half draw around their beds, and already out cold. Jack was purportedly there, too, but the curtain was pulled all the way around his bed.

Mac waited until the nurse had disappeared out the door, closing it behind her as things had gotten pretty busy and noisy. He slipped out of bed and over to where Jack was apparently sleeping. "Jack?" he whispered.

"Hey, kid," came the tired, but also wide awake, sounding reply.

Mac ducked behind the curtain. "Ah, man, that looks … less than ideal."

Jack's leg was packed in a pile of ice packs, an IV was taped down in the crook of his elbow. "That's one way to put it," Jack said, sounding about fifty percent less grouchy than Mac expected to find him. So decent pain meds were part of the package, Mac was guessing.

"How bad is it?" he asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed carefully.

Jack clicked on the dim light above the bed. "I'm dinged up some, but not too bad." He shrugged.

"No, Jackass. Not the rest of you. The leg."

"Oh. That."

"Yeah _that_. You passed out from pain. Remember?" Mac's volume had ticked up a notch.

Jack gave one of his patented 'everything's fine' smiles. "Just tweaked it really bad. Nothin' much on the x-rays. Doc doesn't think it's too serious. But it's seriously swollen."

Mac frowned at him. "What's with the IV then, Sargeant Not Serious?"

"Hey, now, I'm the Overwatch here, or do you need remindin' again?"

Mac just gave him his most stubborn look. "Not gonna avoid the question by pulling rank, Jack, so don't even try."

Jack sighed and shifted a little, grimacing when it moved his leg. "It's some thingy for the swelling and some other thingy for the way it feels like someone's takin' a chainsaw to it. Doc'll take another look at it tomorrow. Probably be able to get outta here then. Light duty until it heals up though, probably crutches for a minute, which means we're probably gonna be stuck shufflin' papers cuz you damn sure ain't goin' out without me."

This time Mac sighed. "I'm probably gonna be on restrictions anyways. Maybe not even paperwork if it's a lot of reading."

Jack cocked a eyebrow. "How come?"

He shrugged. "Little bit of a concussion."

"So you aren't just in your pjs as a show of solidarity?" he chuckled.

"Funny. Hilarious even." Mac groaned quietly as he got up. "Ow, Hell."

"You okay? You know, other than that egg on your melon?"

"I got blowed up, so not in general, no," Mac said with a snort of laughter. "Didn't realize I had a piece of glass stuck in my arm about the size of a damned windshield until we got here either. So all things being equal," Mac's mouth quirked up at one corner. "I'd rather be in Philadelphia."

Jack put out a fist and Mac bumped it. "Does that mean we get to watch _Die Hard_ on the portable DVD player your gramps sent you when we get back?"

Mac grinned. "It's only fair, since you introduced me to it."

"That's only cuz it was Christmas. And it _is_ a Christmas movie."

"Of course it's a Christmas movie. Who said it's not a Christmas movie?"

Jack grinned. "Bout everybody else on base who knew we were watchin' it."

"Screw them. What do they know?" Mac paused. Then he rubbed his forehead and puffed out a long breath. That was maybe more than Tylenol. He should have asked. Because right now he felt a little looped. "Night, Jack. I'm gonna crash. I can hardly keep my eyes open."

Jack raised his eyebrows, but didn't comment on Mac's unusual admission. "Night, kid," was all he said instead. He listened as Mac climbed into bed and heaved a deep 'I really don't want to be here' sigh, rolled onto his side, and grew quiet. Jack just lay there thinking about the last time they'd found themselves laid up. Honestly it wasn't so much him. Jack had hardly had a scratch on him, but Mac … Jesus, Jack thought the kid was going to bleed out right in front of him.

Jack had plenty of nightmares since that RPG had hit their transport the week before Christmas. But between the pain in his leg, and the jitters whatever they were giving him for the swelling were causing, he didn't need to worry about dreams. Memories on the other hand, he was somewhat at their mercy as sleep eluded him.

" _So," Jack tried for about the fifth time. "You gonna put in for some call time on Christmas or what?"_

 _Mac didn't answer. His eyes were fixed on the road ahead. Jack noticed that the kid was chewing his lip._

" _Kid? You listening?"_

" _Mmmm."_

" _Is that a yes or a no? Damned if I can translate Mac-speak today."_

 _A quiet sigh. "I put in for it already after you harped on the holiday. Gramps wants to talk and Boze thinks our friend Penny might be willing to speak to me again."_

" _Why isn't your friend speaking to you? Dija date her sister or something?"_

 _He expected a laugh, but Mac just shook his head. "She's mad that I'm here."_

 _Jack frowned and his eyes were a little angry. "She's mad at you for wanting to serve your country?"_

 _Mac smiled this time. But when he spoke, his tone was serious. "For starters, she was my first girlfriend. Sort of. We've been friends since middle school. And … She's mad that I could die … and that I'm willing to." He paused, just staring ahead at the road and the lights in front of them. He was glad he could pick out the base perimeter. He was bone tired. Finally, he just shrugged. "She's not just being random. She's into a lot of causes. Like she's a vegetarian because of animal rights … She's a vocal pacifist …"_

" _You're a pacifist," Jack interrupted._

" _I'm not a pacifist," Mac replied with an eye roll Jack couldn't quite see in the dark._

" _Course you are. You don't carry firearms here in a forward area and …"_

" _I'm_ **not** _a … You know what? I'm not gonna argue with you."_

 _Brake lights came on ahead. "Wonder what's …"_

 _The flash of fire and deafening bang. Mac slammed on the brakes. Jack was already out of his harness, sliding out of the truck, readying his weapon._

 _Mac got on the radio to call it in._

 _Another blast in front of them shook the glass and made him jump. There was gunfire now, too. Jack shouted something from outside and the voice was coming back over the radio. Reinforcements were on their way, they could see the activity from the northern guard posts. Mac was about to respond when suddenly the world was on fire, tumbling end over end, in pain and heat._

 _Mac might have screamed. He really wasn't sure. Later, he would ask Jack, a sort or embarrassed flush creeping over his badly bruised face, but Jack would just change the subject. What he was sure of at the time was that he was on fire, and he was going to die that way, and that he couldn't breath and he was terrified. Then he blacked out._

 _Jack had just cleared the vehicle when it was hit. The blast knocked him on his ass, and even though he'd almost instinctively ducked and covered, something hot and sharp sliced through his forearm._

 _He swore, watching in an icy sort of panic as fire engulfed the truck, and it tumbled end over end, finally coming to rest upside down farther away than made sense in his head. He could see lights already approaching from the base. He shook himself. Only seconds had passed but he was already blaming himself for any of a thousand scenarios in which Mac wasn't okay. He ran the distance between where he'd fallen and the truck, not even really paying attention to what was going on around him._

 _Mac had somehow managed to extract himself from the harness and climb out the open driver's side window, but he lay there in the cold dirt unconscious. The truck was no longer in flames, but it had been and even in the dark, Jack could see that his hair was singed. He carefully got his hands under Mac's arms and dragged him a safe distance away from the truck, just in case there was anything that might go kaboom still hotter than it ought to be._

 _The younger man was completely limp. Jack got the kid behind a good sized rock and gently laid him down on the ground, mumbling half remember prayers mixed in with inarticulate admonishments that he better not be dead. He was just kneeling down to take the kid's pulse when a pained moan let him know his partner was indeed among the living._

 _Jack took a deep breath and made himself slow down and get out his flashlight._ Jesus, _he whispered. Mac was bleeding from multiple shrapnel wounds. Bleeding a lot. And all his exposed skin was too pink like he'd been at the beach way too long. The sounds of a fight had faded and Ortiz had limped over looking nearly as bad as Mac. "Dalton? What can I do?"_

" _Get the damned medic over hear the second they pull up," he said, pressing on the worst of the bleeding with his bare hands since he didn't have immediate access to anything else. Ortiz just nodded and headed back in the direction he'd come from._

 _The pressure on his shoulder might have woken him up, or maybe he came around naturally, but Mac gasped, and bolted upright. "Pena!" He shouted, or something similar, Jack was almost positive._

 _Jack put a hand on his shoulder, trying to get him to lay back down, as his movement had caused another gout of blood and Jack could see where the ground was wet where he'd been laying. "Mac, buddy, it's alright, man, help is on the way."_

 _Mac shook his head vehemently, eyes on one of the other humvees that was burning brightly a short distance away, and stinking up the night like diesel and burning rubber. He started, trying to scramble to his feet, and fought furiously when Jack tried to pin him to the spot. "No! I've got to help! Got to …" He wrenched free and somehow managed to get somewhat drunkenly to his feet and start toward the burning vehicle._

 _Jack leapt up after him and moved in front of him. "Mac, calm down, you need to …"_

" _Get out of my way! He's still in there," he insisted._

" _MacGyver!" Jack barked, figuring his best 'I outrank your ass' dressing down voice might get through whatever haze his injuries had him in even if nothing else would. "Stand the hell down!"_

 _Instead of responding Mac moved to duck around him. "Stubborn little shit," Jack growled and lowered his shoulder, throwing the younger man up over it. He was expecting another fight, but the kid just went limp, and he could feel his partner's warm blood already soaking through his uniform._

 _Ortiz was at his side seemingly out of nowhere. "Got a medic, but …" Jack glared at him. "Rawson's down with … I think his leg …"_

 _Jack realized the man's hands were shaking. "Where?" was all he said._

 _Ortiz motioned for him to follow and led him to where the medic was working on one of the other med who … Jack had a strong urge to throw up. And he was kind of glad Mac was out cold because the kid had absolutely no stomach for blood and guts shit. At all._

 _He got Mac down on the ground nearby. The medic kept doing what he was doing, but also started kind of eyeballing triage on the newest casualty. He reassured Jack, "More help right behind me, Dalton. And I've got a medevac in bound."_

 _Jack just nodded, watching Mac's face grow paler by the minute._


	4. Chapter 4

Anyone who's ever stayed in one knows hospitals are terrible places to get any real rest. And Mac had an above average amount of difficulty with sleeping in general, say nothing about the location-specific challenges. So he was surprised that when he opened his eyes again, it was to a bright room, well after dawn.

He rolled carefully onto his back, pleased to note that he wasn't as sore as he expected to be. The safety harness in the truck had bruised him a little when it rolled, his arm stung and itched along the long line of stitches, and he still had a headache, but even that was fairly minor.

Mac could hear Kendrick and Reynolds talking on the other side of the room. Then he heard Jack join the conversation. He realized he could smell coffee, and what actually smelled like real eggs. Given how nauseous he'd been by the time he laid down last night he was almost hesitant to let himself want any. But when he cautiously pushed himself up to sitting, he felt fine. Good, even, all things considered.

He glanced at the stand next to the bed and instead of his own filthy and slightly bloody ACUs, a clean set were folded neatly in their place. His name and EOD insignia patches had been pulled off his uniform blouse and left next to these new clothes to be attached later. Mac grinned and got out of bed, dressing carefully, so as not to rattle his head around too much, or make too much noise before he was ready for the other guys to know he was up.

He had a bad moment when he realized his vest was gone. But a small plastic bag was sticking out of his boots with his personal stuff in them. His Swiss Army knife found its way into one of his pockets before he even bothered putting his socks on.

He was lacing his boots before anyone interrupted him. He heard steps and looked up as Major Donaldson, who had pretty obviously been up all night, was about to tap on the wall just outside the edge of the curtain around Mac's bed. "Morning, sir," Mac opened, feeling like it gave him the conversational upper hand.

The sort of appreciative smirk he got in return let Mac know he'd read the guy right. "How you feeling this morning, Specialist, and don't, or I swear you will think I missed my calling and should've been a drill instructor, _don't_ say, 'ready to get out of here'. Honest answer. Facts only."

That was a request Mac could actually relate to. He shrugged. "Like I got a little blowed up yesterday, sir, but pretty good if you take that into account."

"Specifics?"

Mac thought about it. "Stitches itch. Ribs are kind of sore. Headache, but not a bad one. Not dizzy. Also, hungry. And possibly willing to kill a man for some of that coffee I can smell, sir."

"It's shitty coffee, but I second that last part."

Mac grinned. "No such thing as shitty coffee, sir."

When Mac pulled back the curtain around the bed he was definitely a hundred percent kicked out of a few minutes later, he nearly laughed at the hangdog expression his Overwatch was wearing. "Hey," he greeted cheerfully. "How you guys doing?"

"Not nearly as good as some lyin' assed skinny bomb nerds I know. 'Golly, doc, I only nearly got blown to bits last night but I've never felt better in my whole life'," Jack said with a little bit of a glare thrown Mac's way.

The two other men and Mac all cracked up simultaneously. Mac picked up Jack's paper cup of coffee and drained it for him. Just like he figured, it was cold and untouched. "I take it some of us haven't been cut loose yet?"

" _Some of us_ didn't just bullshit our way into getting cut loose."

"You can't have it both ways, Jack. Either I'm the terrible liar you always accuse me of being, or I'm so damned good I can convince my pupils to dilate evenly over brain swelling. Pick one."

Finally, Jack grinned. "I think you switch it up, just to keep me guessin'."

Mac laughed. "You stuck here again?"

Jack shrugged. "Apparently not everybody hops outta bed like the guy in charge of your busted head. I'm still waitin'."

Mac nodded at the other guys. "How about you?"

Kendrick shook his head. "Stuck here. Couple days, probably."

Reynolds rolled his eyes. "Caught a bullet. So no idea. Aren't I lucky?"

Mac looked sympathetic. "I'm sorry guys. I'm waiting on orders. Lemme know if you need anything. Gonna head down to the DFAC, see if the coffee's any better down there."

"It's not," said the tall blond man in a white coat entering from the hall. "But there is an omelette bar this morning."

"You just made my morning, sir," Mac said with a nod, and slipped out the door as Jack started to take up whatever argument he'd apparently left off with the night before.

Jack and Mac made it back to the FOB the following evening with a supply run. For probably the first time in his life Mac was grateful to have a little time off. Just getting back tired him right out. He guessed he'd been too hurt otherwise at Christmas to appreciate the concussion symptoms. He'd blamed the fatigue on the pain meds.

However, he was having a hard time being as inactive as the lecture he'd gotten both at the base hospital and from at least three different medical staff here said he was supposed to be.

Jack was having a hell of a time getting around. It wasn't the crutches. He had experience with those. But even with the brace they'd wrapped his strained knee in, he was hurting enough that holding it off the floor kept hanging him up.

Mac being Mac kept hopping out of his bunk to run for water or food or even just to help Jack get around. Jack finally pretended to doze off under a magazine just to get the kid to sit for five minutes. Once he finally sat, he huffed a long sigh. Then he lay down, and Jack was somewhat amused to note, he was mumbling softly to himself in real sleep in less than a quarter hour.

Jack on the other hand lay there for a long time, counting his heartbeat by the throbbing in his knee. He contemplated his partner racked out nearby in the middle of the afternoon. He was glad Mac was actually listening to the doc. Stubborn little shit was giving him grey hair these last few months. He thought maybe Major Donaldson had scared him a little with his talk of lasting concussion damage.

It wasn't exactly _easier_ to think of than the pain in his leg, but it was nice to reassure himself that at least Mac wasn't as badly off this time as he had been at Christmas. And everything had worked out alright. In fact when Mac had been recovering, that was when he started to let his guard down a little. It was when Jack thought they'd truly become friends. Even as he mulled it over, memories slowly morphed into dreams.

 _Mac's eyes fluttered open. "Fuck," he said so softly that a half sleeping Jack almost missed it. Mac tried looking around, but everything was blurry. "Jack?"_

 _When Jack didn't immediately answer he sort of wanted to cry. He'd done everything he could to push Jack away since the minute they'd met and still Jack had hung with him every step of the way. Mac was certain he was alone. And suddenly he didn't want to be._

 _He squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to start crying like a kid and he really wasn't sure if it was relief that he was still alive and hadn't burned to a crisp or the general misery he was becoming increasingly aware of. Either way, he wasn't about to just give in to it._

 _He jumped a little when a hand very softly touched his shoulder. Jack's voice followed. "Hey, kid."_

" _Jack," he whispered. He sounded hoarse and his voice was shaking. "Where?" was all he had in him at the moment._

" _Kabul," he answered._

 _Mac lay still for a couple of minutes. "Everybody?"_

" _Alive," Jack said. He didn't want to go into details but at least it was true on the surface._

" _You?"_

" _I'm fine, Mac. Barely even disrespected, so not even close to hurt."_

 _Another couple of minutes passed. Finally Mac breathed in and out slowly, like he was testing it. "How long?"_

 _Jack half smiled, now fully awake in the chair he'd parked to nap in when they'd finally gotten the kid more or less patched up. What the kid was asking was how long had he been out, what he meant was how badly was he injured. "Oh, not all that long, Carl's Junior." One corner of Mac's mouth curled up. If Jack was using nicknames he was either dying or he was going to be fine. And he hurt all over, but he didn't think he felt bad enough to be dying. "We've only been here a few hours, I think. You've got some first degree burns from the flash, some smoke inhalation."_

 _Mac didn't have to open his eyes yet to know Jack shrugged. "If that's all, what the hell am I doing in Kabul? You just described shit that'd get you screamed at for trying to go on sick call for."_

 _This time when Jack hesitated, Mac opened his eyes. Things came into focus, although they all had sort of a fuzzy halo around them. He took in the amount of visible bandages on himself and raised an eyebrow at Jack._

" _You took a lot of shrapnel, lost a lot of blood."_

 _Mac frowned. There was something about Jack's expression. "What?" he asked._

" _Concussion, too."_

 _Mac just nodded. His head hurt and felt like it might be stuffed with soggy cotton balls. Then he asked, "Why are you looking at me like that?" in response to Jack's furrowed brow._

 _He didn't really want to tell him, but he also didn't want Mac all agitated, sure Jack was keeping something from him. "You … um … you weren't exactly with it before you finally just clocked out, kid. I couldn't get you to stop tryin' to just run into the fire and save somebody who wasn't there."_

 _Mac closed his eyes again. He thought he'd been dreaming of Al's death. Apparently he'd been awake though._

 _Seeing a line that was becoming familiar forming across Mac's forehead, Jack decided joking with him a little was the best option. "And like i said, you got cut up pretty good. So much blood all over I nearly fainted. Cuz you know what delicate sensibilities I have when it comes to blood being spilled."_

 _Mac snorted laughter and his eyes opened back up. "You were probably just worried they'd try to borrow some of yours. Somebody must've noticed by now that you always find someplace else to be whenever they run a blood drive on base. Gotta get you to pull your weight somehow."_

 _Jack laughed even though he didn't feel much like it. "You're too observant for your own good, kid."_

 _Mac was trying to think of something else to say. The open concern on Jack's face made him feel … he wasn't sure. Not uncomfortable … Sad. And he really couldn't say why. He thought maybe he'd come up with a good way to change the subject away from his injuries, to something that might get Jack to stop looking at him like that. But first he just needed to rest his eyes for a couple of minutes …_

Jack jerked awake with a gasp of pain. He'd rolled half onto his side, onto his bad knee. Not that he'd wanted to argue with the doc about just heading back up here with the standard RICE protocol for the damned thing, but it felt worse than just a sprain or a strain or whatever the hell.

Mac's voice piped up from his other side. "You okay, Jack?"

"Yeah. Rolled funny."

He heard Mac sit up, heard his boots hit the floor. "Want a water or something?"

"You don't have to go running all over for me again, you know."

"Yeah, but I was going to wander down to the infirmary. That lieutenant you've been flirting with offered to snag some of the good Gatorade powder for you."

"I got plenty in my bag."

"Yeah," Mac said with a grin Jack could hear. "But I told her you like the fruit punch. I'm not above using your ability to be charming to improve my own situation."

"Alright, then yeah. A water would be great. And if you were to mention that it's real lonely down here and maybe hint at how a visit from someone even half as pretty …"

Mac shook his head. "I'll mention my Overwatch is a shameless womanizer," he laughed. He added, "Maybe I'll tell her orange drink powder could cure you. They never have orange."

He headed out the door to Jack laughing, which seemed how they always tried to do for each other.


	5. Chapter 5

Mac rounded the corner to their bunk room at a brisker pace than was probably warranted by his current mission (or lack thereof). Everyone else who shared the eight man room was either on duty or, in Reynolds case, still off at the base hospital. Being on duty restrictions and more or less stuck in the barracks had worn thin for Mac after a couple of days. Now, as they neared the two week mark, he was about going out of his mind.

Jack on the other hand seemed to be in his glory not being on patrols. His ongoing flirtation with Trisha had yielded him all sorts of companionship, which certainly broke up the monotony of mostly staying off his feet. No pleasantly distracting female company had been forthcoming on the Angus MacGyver front, unfortunately. And Jack was watching _Die Hard_ on a continuous loop on the portable DVD player Gramps had sent, so when he didn't have Trisha, he had John McClane. Mac liked Die Hard well enough, but he was kind of over it at the moment.

Jack was talking along with the dialogue now, and Mac had just seen Trisha, so it was just McClane and not a combination of him and the pretty nurse. "Welcome to the party, pal," was followed by Jack laughing to himself over one of his favorite parts of the movie. Mac breezed in and tossed some peanut M&Ms onto Jack's bunk on his way to his own. "How are things in Nakatomi Plaza?"

Jack looked up with a grin, tearing into the candy. "Bout the same as they were at Christmas, kid," he replied, offering some of the chocolates to Mac who just shook his head. "How were things … wherever you snuck off to this time?"

Mac sat down on his bunk and pulled a bottled water out of his stash underneath it. He took a couple of pulls off it before answering. "I didn't sneak off anywhere. I went to the chow hall and then over to the infirmary …"

Jack shifted the ice pack he was using and grimaced before he could stop himself. "You didn't get dizzy again, did you?"

Mac chucked his now empty water bottle at Jack. "I'm fine! I don't need a _mom_ here for Chrissake. Jesus, that's a bad habit." His elaborate frown was somewhat spoiled by the sheepish hand that ran through his short hair, knowing just exactly why that was Jack's assumption. "I haven't gotten dizzy in a couple days. I went down to see if I could get somebody to maybe clear me for at least desk duty for tomorrow. I'm going nuts sitting on my ass here."

That last was said with a sullen huff, and Jack couldn't tell if it was put on for effect or if Mac's boredom was really starting to fry him a little. "What'd the doc say?" Jack asked mildly.

Mac sighed. "Nobody with the right rank or credentials was free to do anything other than give me dirty looks. Trisha said I could tag along when you get your knee looked at again tomorrow and if …" He paused, rolling his eyes.

"If what?"

Mac flushed, "If I look like as much of a puppy as I usually do …" Jack's cackle interrupted Mac's grumpy statement. Finally Mac just spoke over him. "Maybe somebody will take pity on me and shine a light in my face."

"What else?" Jack prodded.

"She said not to get my hopes up. 'Cause concussion restrictions blah blah blah," he groused.

"I knew I liked that woman."

"Oh, so cuz you're stuck warming your bunk on a semi-permanent basis, I have to be, too?"

Jack raised an eyebrow. That sounded like actually angry Mac as opposed to just grumpy or disgruntled. And they both knew it wasn't about Jack needing company. He'd been given a variety of duties that didn't involve mobility. Just his knee was swollen again, which was why he was in the barracks this afternoon. And half the time when he was stuck there, he had a very nice visitor. Mac, who swore up and down he felt fine, was still completely off the duty roster. Mac didn't want to talk about this being his second concussion in just a few months, didn't especially want to acknowledge it at this point, but their medical staff was obviously conscious of it.

"It ain't about me one bit. That ginormous brain a yours is too damn important to keepin' an awful lotta people alive to have you treatin' it like anything other than the absolute military asset, not to mention personal gift, that it is. I gotta get my nana to holler at you again?"

Mac just sighed. He did not, in point of fact, need any of Jack's relatives chewing him out over video chat. Not again, anyway. He flopped back onto his bunk in a way that made Jack want to remind him that the reason he'd been spending so much time in it was a freaking concussion. But he didn't. He was pretty sure saying such a thing would get his head bitten right off, the mood Mac was getting himself into. Mac knew he was just in a foul temper, so he scrubbed his hands over his face then sat back up, adjusting his expression so he was pretty sure it was only an eighth as pissy as he felt.

"How much longer for you, do they think, before they clear you?" He tipped his head at Jack's knee and refrained from commenting that the brace he'd been given looked tight around it this afternoon and was cutting into his leg a little. Mac hadn't actually seen the knee, but Jack had kind of been living in his PT gear when he wasn't on duty so mac had a fair idea of the good days and bad days Jack was having with the injury. Today looked like a bad one.

Jack shrugged. "I dunno, kid. Doc said to try usin' it a little and I got up on it long enough for a shower this morning without the crutches just to see how it felt and I'm maybe wishing I hadn't. But based on what they already told me, I probably better get used to not likin' how it feels since I'm probably gonna have to start rehabbing it anyway."

"Mmm," Mac said noncommittally. "Somebody said Seavers got a copy of _True Grit_ in his Christmas care package when it finally showed up. I could probably go bum it off him."

Jack's face lit up. "I know I usually say remakes suck, but …"

"Sometimes they're even better," Mac nodded. "Gramps liked it when it came out in the theater, and I've told you how he feels about remakes."

Jack nodded. "Have you heard from your grandad lately, kid?"

Mac shrugged and shook his head. "Nah. Gramps is like that though. He really wanted to have a talk over Christmas but then I was so banged up … I'll give him a call the next time there's room to sign up." He shrugged again. He was actually a little worried about Gramps, though he couldn't have put his finger on why. "You want me to go borrow the movie or what?"

"You tired of _Die Hard_ , are ya?"

"I think after how similar the day we got blowed up at Christmas was to this last thing … I think I need the similarities to stop," he said with an unusual amount of vulnerability.

"Alright kid, let's see if the reboot does the Duke justice."

Mac was grinning again as he headed out to bother one of the other "bomb nerds" for a movie, pleased to have something to break up the afternoon that didn't feel like _Groundhog Day_.

0-0-0

"Seriously?" Mac asked heavily, forgetting to add a ma'am or that he was anything other than a regular guy who liked to be in a state of perpetual motion, and reminded acutely that following orders was not something that came especially naturally to him.

He moved to slide off the gurney he was sitting on, but Captain Carver stayed in his way, very stubbornly forcing eye contact again. "Very seriously, Specialist."

He let himself relax back to fully seated like he wasn't in a hurry to leave and like he hadn't forgotten that he needed to be dismissed to do so. "Even if I feel fine, ma'am?" he asked politely, remembering himself after her sharp tone.

She was suddenly profoundly grateful that her husband was a civilian and doing the vast majority of the more active parenting now that their kids were in their middle teen years. "MacGyver, has anyone actually explained to you why the month restriction was set to begin with?" she asked, patiently, she thought, given that she wasn't especially accustomed to being questioned or pushed back against these days.

He frowned. "Not really, ma'am. Just that I have a concussion. That's all anyone has said. On an endless loop."

"Well, then maybe someone should," she offered. "Are you familiar with Post Concussion Syndrome?"

"Yes, ma'am." He didn't add that it was the other thing that had been repeated to him over and over the last couple of weeks.

"Did you know that you're more likely to experience it if you don't allow your brain time to heal?"

"Well, yes, ma'am, but …"

"A hundred days."

Mac's eyes widened. "Excuse me, ma'am?"

"A hundred days is the amount of time you can typically expect to continue suffering concussion symptoms if you don't rest your mind as well as your body. If you do neither, you could find yourself with permanent difficulties and a medical discharge."

He swallowed hard. Then he tilted his head, listening to a voice just audible through the thin wall. That sounded like Jack. He refocused on the doctor though. "What if I …"

"Following concussion protocols, the majority of those studied were symptom free in forty-three days."

"Forty-three?" he sputtered. That was almost a month a a half!

Then he very distinctly heard Jack's voice say clearly. "Fuck that."

Or maybe 'say' was kind of an understatement. Snap, growl, shout - those all worked.

"Hence the month restriction," she said with a nod.

Mac was now more interested in trying to overhear whatever was going on with Jack than arguing with the doctor. "Okay … I mean … yes, ma'am."

"That loud voice belong to you?" she asked, amused that suddenly the young man's laser focus was so easily transferred to something else.

"Pretty sure that's my Overwatch, ma'am."

"Go rescue my colleague from your Overwatch, Specialist. I'll do what I can to get you cleared for something as soon as I can. As I understand it bored bomb techs can equal messy pranks that color up my days more than I generally like." He had to smile at that. He couldn't help it. Especially because it was true. "See us again next week, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said hopping up the second she was out of his way.

In the hallway, he nearly smacked into Jack's current crush. "Lieutenant," he greeted almost formally. Trisha was just Trisha outside these walls. Bustling around the infirmary, however, her demeanor begged for some acknowledgement that she was his superior.

"Mac," she replied with what could only be described as relief. "You _are_ still here. Good. I've got a job for you."

The twitch of her lips made him smile in return. "Where is he?"

"In there with Major Richards," she said, tilting her head. "Trying to get himself in deep shit."

Mac frowned. "What's up?"

"Do you know what joint effusion is?"

"In this case?" The frown deepened. "Water on the knee?"

"Mmhm. Know what arthrocentesis is?"

"Gross."

"Okay so you do. Dalton is having none of it and seems to be trying to get himself kicked out of the Army to avoid it."

Through the door she'd indicated, Mac hear the familiar voice raised again. "That sort of explains a few things actually." He sighed. "It's been nice knowing you."

"Huh?"

"I'm gonna go butt in to a Dalton irrational Hulk out. And Jack'll probably kill me so …"

She laughed. "Hulk out … oh that's perfect."

Mac put on his game face and tapped on the door, entering without waiting for an answer. He was generally an observant guy, but the first thing that took up his attention was the look in Jack's eye. It was definitely angry, with the dangerous sparkle that he got when he sensed trouble. But it was also flatly terrified. Mac knew the look because he'd seen it when he'd gotten hurt at Christmas and Jack thought he was going to bleed to death.

It made him want to put some distance between him and his partner. A scared Jack Dalton was about the most dangerous thing he could think of. Then he felt bad. Jack's last impulse on earth if Mac was afraid would be to leave. Besides, he'd now also gotten a look at Jack's knee without the brace, so whatever had him in full fight or flight was probably unavoidable.

"Morning, sir," Mac said to the doctor pleasantly, just like the man didn't look about ready to throttle his partner. He got a nod in return.

The doctor looked at Jack, a sort of long suffering expression coming over his face. "I'll be back in five minutes."

After he was out the door, Jack mumbled, "And I'll be gone in five minutes."

"Probably not without these," Mac said, and rolled his eyes, picking up Jack's crutches from where they were leaning against the table, and started attempting to use them in the small room. They were too tall. As he predicted, Jack had to laugh at him.

"What's it to you anyway, Carl's Junior?"

Mac put the crutches down again, but leaned them over against the counter, several feet away from Jack. "Well, I met Trisha in the hallway and she seemed to think you were in here bucking for an Article 92 for some reason. And I just figured I'd come put the brakes on whatever had you swearing so I could hear it through the wall before I have to break in a new Overwatch."

Jack sighed and started strapping his knee back into its neoprene brace. "I'm not gonna get court martialed over not letting some hack turn my knee into a voodoo doll."

"So you didn't get ordered to …"

"I'm not doin' it! And it ain't the same thing as an order in the field and …"

Mac noticed when Jack was tired or stressed at all the Texas got so thick in his voice it was like a foreign accent. "Whether it's out there in a fight or in a crappy poorly lit exam room on base … Pretty sure it's still an order, pal."

Jack swung his freshly braced leg off the table and motioned for Mac to hand him the crutches. The expression on his face said that if Mac wanted to continue metabolizing oxygen and expelling carbon dioxide the crutches had better get handed over. On the double. "Yeah, like you're one to talk about ignoring orders."

Mac reluctantly passed Jack the crutches. "Only if they're dumb," he grinned.

"Well, I think these orders _are_ dumb. So there. Besides, you're the one who pointed out we ain't government property and …"

"Whoa! All I said was that you can't get cited for damaging government property for doing something dumb like playing pickup football!" Mac interrupted, holding up his hands. "I never said the Army can't order your dumb ass to let somebody fix up your leg before they have to kick you out with a permanent limp!"

"Yeah, well, I think I'm startin' to like the MacGyver method," Jack said, getting the crutches under him.

"And what's that?" Mac asked, cocking an eyebrow, fairly certain the answer wouldn't be flattering.

"Arguin' every damn time I don't like somethin'," Jack said, unable to help grinning at the slightly offended look he got from the younger man. "Doc's gettin' me a dose pack of prednisone to take the swelling back down instead of …" He waved vaguely at a small wheeled table currently covered with a small paper drape. "That."

"Oh," Mac said with sudden complete realization. He'd suspected this was the case, but he was pretty confident he'd just confirmed it. "Okay. I get it. Prednisone is good. Worth a try anyway."

Jack didn't like the suddenly sympathetic look Mac was now giving him. He sort of understood why his own fussing made Mac so defensive at that moment. "Why're you lookin' at me like that?"

"Nothing, man. Just … Nothing." Calling Jack out openly for the sort of thing guys would give each other endless shit for seemed like a good way to spend the day with Jack pissed at him instead of the doctor.

"Dude!" Jack absolutely hated it when Mac clammed up. Especially when he got that slightly intimidated look about him. When they'd first met, Jack would have paid good money to intimidate the stubborn little shit into just half behaving like he expected him to, but now he didn't like it. Not at all.

Mac put up his hands again. "I just didn't realize you're … you know … someone with trypanophobia."

Jack glared at him. "I am not!"

"It's actually kind of a debatable accurate term. It means fear of ne...,"

"I know what the hell it means, smartass! I'm no afraid of any damn thing. I just don't want some former ROTC nerd screwing up the rest of my career cuz he has shaky hands or somethin'!" he declared defensively.

Mac suppressed a smirk. The fact that he hadn't had to translate the term said he'd just hit on exactly why he'd been able to hear Jack swear though the wall and had him looking vaguely like an animal caught in a trap. "Okay, sorry," was what he said instead. And he mostly managed to sound like he thought he might be wrong, despite the fact that Jack did always seem to find somewhere else to be of sharp objects might be involved.

He was going to hedge that it was a perfectly understandable fear, if someone, not Jack of course, but _someone_ happened to have it. But he was interrupted by the none to impressed doctor coming back in. With no preamble he thrust a card of pills at Jack who had the good sense just to take them from him. "You, take these as directed and get yourself back over here in two days. Barracks restrictions until then."

"Alright, but," Jack started.

"Do you have questions about this medication, Sargent?" he interrupted.

Jack's eyes widened just a little. "No, sir."

"Good. Then the rest of those orders should pose no problem for you either." He turned to Mac. "You."

"Yessir?"

"Your orders are to haul him in here two days from now whether you have to drag him or not."

Mac just nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Dismissed," the officer said as he turned to leave, altogether done with argumentative dumbasses or their too damn young to be in a war zone sidekicks.

"Let's go," Jack said, stuffing the meds in his short's pocket and angling one of his crutches to hold the door.

As Jack gained ground quickly headed back to their room Mac just sighed and shook his head. Jack had thrown him a look like he, too, was now one of the enemy. _Sure, Major,_ Mac thought. _I'll go ahead and drag Jack back here in a couple of days. Because I've al_ ways wondered what it would be like to not have thumbs.

The prospect was more intimidating that a month and a half of boredom. Hell, at the moment, it was more intimidating than a streetful of IEDs.

 _Maybe it won't matter,_ Mac consoles himself. _Maybe the course of steroids will work._ He nearly had himself convinced, but as his mind started turning over the strange similarities to their situation at Christmas it also started contemplating Murphy's Laws.

When he entered their bunk house a minute or two behind Jack, it was to find him already complaining about the day to Kendrick who was not helping matters as he described having an ankle drained after a football injury in high school.

Mac just stretched out on his own bunk with an arm over his eyes against the mild headache that was trying to make a comeback. He grumbled to himself as he dozed off for one of his concussion induced unplanned naps, " _Fucking Murphy was an optimist."_


	6. Chapter 6

Mac rolled his eyes for perhaps the tenth time in as many minutes. Then he glared at Kendrick. "Dude, you are _not_ helping."

Kendrick took in the expression on Mac's face and backpedaled his latest repetition of the story of ankle arthrocentesis from back in school. "I mean, it really didn't hurt though," the man assured Jack with a shrug.

 _Pretty sure that's not what he's worried about,_ Mac thought. He hadn't known Jack for all that long, but he'd never once see the man shy away from something because he might get hurt (or because he already was). And the man wielded a head butt like his skull was made of marble or something. Pain didn't decide Jack Dalton's actions.

Irrational fears though? Those Jack had a whole catalogue of apparently. And this one was actually pretty common and understandable. Much more so than his aversion to say black cats. The story that involved a "foot long needle" was pretty clearly the root of Jack's renewed reluctance.

What he said instead of any of that was a half assed attempt at being reassuring. "You don't even know what the doctor's going to say, Jack. So let's go."

"In a minute," Jack said grumpily.

"You've been saying that for the last quarter hour, pal. I feel like you must have noticed by now, but the higher ups don't take too kindly to soldiers being late around here … Or anywhere, really. C'mon." He leaned against the door jamb and gestured toward the hall again.

Jack made no move to get up from his position sprawled on his bunk. "I don't see what difference it makes to you whether I go today or not. Maybe all I need is another day on the meds and the swelling'll come right down. Why give me a five day supply and then make me come back before it's done."

"Probably so they can see if it's working, before you get necrotizing fasciitis or something." Mac thought it only looked worse, but he didn't say so. What he did do was clarify his statement. "That's gangrene by the way, which is a legit possibility if the swelling effects circulation."

The appearance of Jack's knee was actually starting to freak him out a little; it sort of looked the way a lab glove did if you turned it into a water balloon. He couldn't just say that though. Jack might have no difficulty expressing that he was worried, that he cared about his partner, but Mac just wasn't wired that way. In fact, in Mac's experience, that sort of openness led to trouble.

So he huffed a sigh and snapped, "And it makes a difference because I have orders, too. I'm supposed to get you there today even, and I quote, even if I have to drag you."

Jack frowned. He was not accustomed to Mac behaving with obvious concern for him, or anyone else for that matter. "You're not gonna get in trouble just because I decided …"

Mac threw up his hands in defeat. "Fine! Do whatever you want!"

Mac turned to leave the room and Jack called out, "Where you goin'?"

"For a walk!" he said, totally exasperated, without turning around. Then he stalked off down the hall, hands jammed into his pockets. Life had been a hell of a lot easier without a partner, he grumbled in his head.

He turned over the thought that he shouldn't be so worried about someone else deciding to be irresponsible, that it shouldn't bother him. Jack was right; it was unlikely that he'd get in trouble for not being able to make a guy who both outranked him and had about forty pounds on him to go anywhere he didn't want to. Why should he care?

 _Because Jack does. And because, in spite of a lot of things, we're friends._

There is was. Simple as that. Mac was someone who, while it was difficult for him to show, cared deeply about the people in his life, whether that care was reciprocated or not. And if it was, he'd move mountains. Just look at everything he'd been through with Bozer; most of that trouble was of Bozer's own doing, too. And Jack cared. So much sometimes that Mac didn't even know how to respond to it. Like when Jack called him brother completely absent any irony or teasing.

 _Jack's telling me he doesn't want me to ..._

He stopped himself.

When Mac had gotten hurt at Christmas, Jack had hardly left his side. And Jack hadn't cared that Mac kept telling him he was fine, that he didn't need help or support. Jack had stubbornly stuck with him anyway. Mac paced the corridors and the equipment areas remembering the several weeks after he'd woken up sore all over, foggy, and covered in bandages.

 _Mac had only been kept at the hospital in Kabul for a couple of days. Proof, he asserted, that he wasn't hurt all that badly. He was fine, or they wouldn't have let him go. Jack had just shaken his head on the trip back to base. He didn't say the only reason they'd cut him loose was that he kept getting out of bed, setting off alarms, and on one notable occasion "accidentally" setting fire to one of the garbage cans, triggering the alarm and necessitating a mini evacuation of the area._

 _Mac was pretty clearly a lot of things, but fine wasn't one of them. He bitched about the pain medication making him sleepy and half drunk, but it was obvious to both the medical staff and to Jack that Mac's concussion was what had him in a haze, since when they substituted Tylenol for the more burly meds, Mac had just as much trouble concentrating and staying awake._

 _They got back about mid-day on Christmas Eve. Mac had missed his call with his grandfather as well as with Bozer and Penny. Half the guys there offered to let him have their time, but he'd just shaken his head. The trip back had worn him out, and he didn't want anyone to miss time with their families just because he'd gotten blown up a little._

 _He'd gone straight to bed after being annoyed by the local medical staff. As they had for the better part of the previous week, dreams of Alfred Pena's fiery death plagued him. He'd woken up early that evening to Jack sitting on the edge of his bunk, gently shaking him awake from the latest of those dreams._

 _Jack pretended not to notice the tears on his face or the fact that he was slicked with sweat, mostly because he'd slept through a dose of pain medicine. He'd just handed Mac an orange Gatorade that Mac had no idea where he'd scrounged up (there was never any orange) and said it was chow time._

 _Mac groaned. He had no interest in getting out of bed and limping to the Mess. Not even a little. Jack offered to bring him something, admirably refraining from pointing out that someone who was still badly off enough to choose bed over access to the soft serve machine he usually practically lived on top of was probably still badly off enough to be occupying a bed somewhere more supervised than this bunkhouse._

 _Mac hadn't eaten much the last several days. The one time Jack had seen him finish a meal at the hospital it had been tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. When Jack had commented on it being nice to know he could still put away food if he wanted to, a more medicated than he cared to be and altogether exhausted blond bomb nerd had admitted that it had been a favorite since he was a kid, that it's what his mother had always made him when he was sick. The slight crack in Mac's voice then had kept Jack from pressing any further, but he filed away the information for later._

 _Instead of pressing about Mac coming to dinner with him, he'd delivered the mail he'd come down here with anyway. A box of cookies from Bozer and a portable DVD player along with the first season boxed set of Mythbusters had seemed to cheer Mac up a little. Jack left him watching the myth busting crew strapping a JATO rocket to the top of a beat up car._

 _Instead of going to get a hot meal, Jack had gone on a mission. He never asked what was in it, but Jack had used some MREs and God knew what else to cob together something that vaguely resembled grilled cheese and tomato soup. Mac had eaten the whole thing too. It was disgusting and weirdly comforting._

 _They'd watched the videos Mac had received as a Christmas present until he fell asleep. And the following day, instead of engaging in what passed for Christmas festivities for most others not on duty, Jack had hung out with Mac again, just talking and watching the copy of Die Hard Jack kept in his gear as a good luck charm. Mac had never seen it before, and usually just picked apart the technical aspects of action movies. But he found himself pleasantly distracted by both the movie and Jack's incessant lilting chatter._

Mac nearly blushed thinking about how much of his life he'd revealed to Jack in the week or so following that explosion. He'd not really meant to let the man in that far. Bozer was probably the only one he'd told anything like some of the stuff he'd revealed about his mother's death, about MIT and his decision to leave, about a lot of things. And Mac knew he'd been prickly as hell while he recovered, especially about the expectations that he report to the infirmary regularly and Jack's ridiculous vigilance about reminding him to take his antibiotics and pain medication.

Mac suddenly turned on his heel and headed back to their room. Jack had made sure he was alright after Christmas. Mac was going to return the favor, even if it didn't feel much like a favor in the moment.

He approached the room and could hear Kendrick finally trying to repair the damage his storytelling had done over the last two days. Apparently he'd finally figured out what Jack's problem was. It was probably too little too late, but Mac appreciated the effort.

"Seriously, it's so numb when they do it, if you aren't looking, you'd never know anything was happening."

Jack sighed. "That's good, I guess …" Another sigh. "If it's not better by the end of these meds, I'll let 'em do whatever they want to it … Can we drop it for now, huh?"

Mac strode through the door, "Still trying to wind up charged with disobeying a direct order, I see."

"They're not gonna charge me with anything," Jack said, rolling his eyes in a way that Mac took to be slightly mocking. Jack was always pointing out Mac's almost involuntary eye rolling. Then Jack frowned at him. "You okay, bud? You look … I dunno kinda iffy."

"Yeah, I'm …" Mac realized that he'd more or less broken his own restrictions and jogged back over here. So he was sweaty and a little out of breath. He also realized there was one good way to get his partner over to the infirmary. Once Jack was there, the staff would take care of the rest.

 _Oh, man, I am definitely gonna regret this …_

Mac sat down hard on Stevens's bunk, the one closest to him. He put his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands. "Whoa," he breathed. "Dizzy all of a sudden."

He heard Jack sit up all the way and swing both legs off his bed. "Mac?"

"Ah, um … ah, Hell … my head …"

He heard Jack's breath hiss through his teeth as he got his crutches under himself and took the ten or so steps over to where Mac sat. "Kid, look at me a minute, okay?"

Mac hesitated, then reluctantly squinted up at his partner like it was the last thing on earth he wanted to be doing. "Yeah?" he said like he couldn't imagine what Jack's problem was.

"Alright," Jack said with a definitive nod. "Let's get you to the infirmary."

Mac frowned and then winced at the expression. "I'm fine, Jack. I don't need …"

"What were your orders about more headaches and gettin' dizzy an' all that?" Jack asked with a certain amount of severity, already knowing the answer.

"I mean …" Mac heaved a heavy exaggerated sigh. "Okay, but …"

"But nothin', kid. Let's go."

Mac braced his hands on his thighs and stood slowly. Jack started out the door in front of him. Mac sullenly mumbled, "I don't need an escort, you know."

Jack just tossed him a grin over his shoulder. "But I'm gonna give you one anyway."

Mac shrugged and followed him. He paused at the door and flashed a grin at Kendrick who started laughing softly.

Mac had the feeling if Jack hadn't needed both hands on his crutches to get there, he'd have beef led to the infirmary by his elbow. Mac breathed an involuntary puff of relief at seeing who was working the desk. Jack spoke before he could though. "Morinin' there, Lieutenant Lowery."

Trisha looked up with a smile. "There you are, Dalton. Major Richards was about ready to send the MPs after you," she teased.

"Oh, I'm not here for me," Jack asserted. "Those meds are workin' just fine. I'm here cuz my little bomb nerd here just near passed out on me."

She looked to Mac in time to catch the expected eye roll. "I didn't anywhere near pass out, ma'am. I got a little dizzy and I have a headache."

She gave him a nod. "Alright, let's get somebody to take a look."

She started to lead him off toward one of the exam rooms. "I'll let Richards know he can check you over, now, Sargent," she said over her shoulder to Jack. "Since you're here anyway."

Jack made a petulant face, realizing his error in walking his partner down here personally just a little too late. He considered just taking off now that Mac was being taken care of but one of the other nurses came out a split second later. Jack noted his name as Lieutenant Smith but immediately substituted Lieutenant Smirky based on the man's facial expression.

In a nearby room, Trisha was taking Mac's vital signs. "How bad's the headache?"

"I don't have a headache," he replied with a grin. "I couldn't get Jack to come down here for himself so I faked a dizzy spell and said my head hurt. Worked like a charm."

She laughed. "I think maybe Jack's right. You are kind of sneaky. I mean he says sneaky little shit, but you're bigger than me so I can hardly use that."

"Yeah, well his knee looks like a water balloon full of pudding, so I figured I had to try something."

She made a note on the clipboard and said, "I'm going to let Captain Carver know you're here anyway. She might as well have a look at you." She snickered as his eyes rolled. "It'll keep your cover with your Overwatch, anyway."

He actually nodded at that. "That's a good point."

It took Mac about ten more minutes to get himself out of the exam room. He was almost glad he'd used the ploy he had to get Jack in here because Carver said he could start doing some light duty after the weekend. He was about to slip into the waiting area when he heard somebody, not Jack, swear.

Something told him that colorful language was probably related to his partner. So he changed direction. A tallish dark haired man in scrubs came out of the room right in front of him, cursing under his breath, lip bleeding.

"Are you alright, sir?" Mac asked.

"Fine, Specialist." He went behind a counter and got an alcohol wipe to clean his lip. "I'm guessing from the description you're the tech Dalton is trying to use as an excuse to take off?"

"That's me, sir." Unable to resist, he asked. "He didn't hit you, did he, sir?"

"I don't think it was necessarily on purpose, if that's what you're asking." Mac nodded. It had been. His biggest worry this morning had been that Jack was about to let a perfectly legitimate phobia get him in big trouble because instead of admitting to it, he was being a jackass. "Maybe you can talk some sense into your Overwatch. Get him to pull his head out of his fourth point of contact."

Mac chuckled then. "I can try, sir."

Mac opened the door and realized that might prove beyond his skills. He knew the look, certainly. Pale, shaky, with slightly wild eyes. He recognized it from having worn it on any number of occasions where he, himself, had needed to be further off the ground than he cared for, which basically meant at all. It was an unpleasant panicky feeling, made worse by the fact that you knew it was ridiculous, so you got to be embarrassed on top of feeling like your stomach had grown claws and was trying to make a hasty exit out your windpipe.

"Hey, Jack," he greeted, like his partner's sheer terror wasn't totally obvious. "You almost done in here, or what?"

Major Richards favored Mac with an approving expression. "He can get out of here pretty quickly if he just follows my advice and finds someplace else to look for about three minutes as an alternative to his current losing argument."

"We _could_ give it another day or three though," Jack asserted, shifting uncomfortably in his carefully chosen several feet away from the table seat.

"Could," Richards agreed, making it clear he thought the suggestion didn't really warrant consideration. "And you could also permanently lose function or develop a dangerous infection if we don't take the swelling down, Dalton. The imaging looks fine. This is just a sort of feedback loop of inflammation."

"So you gave me that stuff to help with that already!"

Mac leaned against the counter next to Jack. "Which isn't working, Jack," he observed mildly.

"Which isn't working," Richards agreed with a nod. "We'll take the inflammation down the easy way, introduce medication for the pain and swelling, and more likely than not, a week from now, you can pretend this never happened."

Jack looked back and forth between his young partner and the doctor, eyes just a little wild. Mac could hear the subtle sound of Jack's breathing picking up, and an audible click as Jack swallowed. Mac relaxed. Those were the sounds of defeat. "Alright, I guess," Jack sighed.

Mac patted him on the shoulder as he took a step toward the door. "I'll hang around and walk back with you."

"Thanks, man," Jack said, voice tight, but resigned.

Mac's hand was on the doorknob when the doctor took a step toward Jack with what was realistically a pretty small syringe full of anesthetic. That wasn't what Jack saw though. It was definitely the foot long needle Kendrick had described that was no way no how going anywhere near, say nothing about into, his person. He was on his feet and headed somewhat wildly toward the door.

Mac just happened to be in his way. Jack made a move to just shove him out of the way in the midst of what amounted to a panic attack and without even thinking, without hesitating, Mac just fired out with a compact right jab that Jack had been coaching him on for months when the hit the gym to blow off steam. Jack went limp and crumpled to the floor.

"Shit," Mac said under his breath and dropped down to see if Jack was alright. "Sorry, pal," he said, although Jack was out cold and unlikely to hear anything.

"Well, that's one way to get this done," Richards observed. He checked his patient's pulse and vitals before tipping his chin at Mac. "Gimme a hand, woulda?"

Mac started to help Richards lift Jack back into the chair. Trisha stepped into the room just then, acting as relief for Smith whose lip was still bleeding intermittently. "Oh my god, did he pass out?"

"Yes!" Mac said quickly. "He definitely definitely did pass out."

He was already mentally experiencing the endless well-earned revenge dead arms and Charlie horses that were bound to be coming his way when Jack realized what had happened here.

"Sure," Richards said with a laugh, going about the business he could have had out of the way almost a half hour ago. "No bantam weight just ko'd him with one tap."

Trisha widened her eyes at Mac. "Nice," she said, sounding like she meant it. "Should've had you clock him a couple days ago and he'd probably be off the crutches already."

"Um … glad I could … ahem … help," Mac said looking everywhere but anywhere near what was going on with Jack's knee.

"Not you, too?" Richards asked with a snicker at the suddenly green Specialist.

"No, not exactly … but … I'm … I prefer my science a little less …"

"Squishy?" Trisha supplied.

"Yeah," he agreed.

When Trisha used smelling salts and Jack snapped awake a couple of minutes later his knee was back to normal size with two bandaids on it.

"What the hell happened?" he asked, sitting up and trying to orient himself.

"You fainted!" Mac said just a little too quickly. "Vasovagal syncope is a common symptom of trypanophobia, due to overstimulation of the …"

"Save the science lesson for when I ain't got a headache there Carl's Junior," Jack said, running his hands over his face and wincing when he touched his chin. He raised an eyebrow at Mac but didn't say anything. "I take it I can get out of here then?" he asked Trisha.

She nodded and told him he could go as soon as Richards got back with some printed instructions for him.

As they made their way back to the barracks, Jack still on his crutches for a couple of days, he couldn't quite let go of his trip to the infirmary. "I have _never_ passed out in my life."

"First time for everything, pal," Mac observed, not looking at Jack.

Jack frowned at the back of Mac's head. "I guess I almost did when I enlisted though, even though they used those air gun thingys," he said thoughtfully.

"I was just thinking Medical Reception must've been fun for you," Mac said. "If ever anybody was gonna maybe pass out, that'd be the place."

Jack made a conscious effort to catch up so he could see Mac's profile. "Did you?" he demanded.

Mac shrugged. "Nah. I was too busy getting yelled at for running my mouth to be too worried about a couple of shots, man."

"I figured you had a problem with it too when you wouldn't go get inked with us," Jack said, letting it be almost a question.

Mac laughed and hazarded a look at Jack finally. "All that tells you is I a) don't think getting poked with sharp things is a reasonable recreational activity and b) there's only so far I trust the statistical efficacy of the hepatitis vaccine. That place was a dump, dude."

Jack laughed then, finally ready to drop the subject and no longer feeling quite so defensive. He spent the next few minutes quizzing Mac about how his head was and what his doctor had said. He was glad Mac was doing okay and might get a little desk duty next week to break up the monotony. Then right before they got to their bunk room he stopped and turned to face Mac fully. "You're not gonna tell the guys I passed out like a first class baby are ya?"

"Even though you did practically issue a press release when you found out that I'm afraid of heights?"

"Aw Mac, I'm sorry man, I was just kiddin' around and …"

"Your secret's safe with me, Dalton," he said with a reassuring grin before heading inside.

Later that night, everyone else was already asleep, tired from a long day of hard duty, or in Kendrick's case, pain medication. Even though it was dark, Mac knew Jack was still awake by how quiet he was. If Jack was asleep he was snoring, no question about it. He asked softly, "How's the leg, pal? Still keeping you up?"

"Nah," he answered quietly. "Got kind of a headache though."

"Maybe you bumped your head when you passed out."

"Maybe, yeah. G'night, kid"

"Good night, Jack."

It was quiet for a few minutes.

Mac heard the rasp of Jack rubbing his hands over his scruffy five o'clock shadow. "Ow, what the hell?" he whispered.

Mac suddenly felt like a rabbit caught in the sights of a dangerous predator. Jack's voice hissed, "You hit me."

"I … You fainted."

"You hit me."

"You probably bumped your chin when you fell." As soon as it was out of his mouth Mac realized that was specific enough to constitute a mistake.

"You. Hit. Me."

"Um … Is your leg really feeling better tonight?"

He heard an exasperated half affectionate chuckle. "Yeah, kid, it really is." He sighed. "Goodnight, Mac."

"Night Jack." He paused, feeling guilty. "I'm sorry about your face …"

"I knew you hit me!"

 _The End_


End file.
